China Blue (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 3) by Madalyn Morgan (top 100 novels of all time TXT) 📕

of Portland and Baker Street. Come on, China, we’re nearly there,’ Mitch said, walking faster until they were almost running. They arrived out of breath and laughing. Mitch took the key to the outside door from his pocket and raced up the steps and Claire followed. ‘On the right,’ he said, stopping to open a grey letterbox – the first in a row of several that was fixed to the wall just inside the door. ‘A letter from Colonel Smith, but it can wait,’ Mitch whispered, unlocking the door to flat number one.

‘It’s lovely,’ Claire said, entering and turning full circle. ‘It’s so big. My flat isn’t half the size of this.’

‘I hadn’t thought about it. I guess it’s because it’s my home in England. I can hardly pop over to Canada when I get forty-eight hours leave.’ Mitch took Claire’s coat and hung it up in the hall.

‘Thank you. Can I use the bathroom?’

‘Sure.’ Mitch opened a door on the left.

In the bathroom Claire took Mitch’s after shave lotion from the shelf. It was French. She took out the cork stopper and lifted the bottle to her nose. She closed her eyes, remembering the night they slept in the hayloft. She put the bottle back, turned the key in the lock and used the toilet. While she washed her hands she looked in the mirror. She looked a mess, which wasn’t surprising; she had been running. She put the comb through her hair, applied a little lipstick and left.

‘I thought we’d get warmed up before we eat.’ Mitch handed Claire a cup of coffee and sat with his own.

‘Were you here last night?’ Claire asked.

‘Yes, looking over some papers that the colonel sent over.’ Mitch got up and crossed the room to the gramophone. ‘What kind of music do you like, China?’

‘I like swing, and jazz – all sorts really.’

‘You’ll like Billie Holiday then. “I’ve got my love to keep me warm…”’ Mitch sang. A second later there was a crackle, followed by Billie Holiday’s distinctive New York American accent. Sad and reflective one minute, strident and forceful the next, the jazz singer’s unique voice filled the room. Mitch took a bottle of cognac from the cupboard beneath the gramophone, put it on the occasional table, and went into the kitchen. Waltzing back with two glasses, he put them next to the bottle and sat down on the settee by Claire. ‘A drop of this will warm you up, China,’ he said, pouring equal measures of the amber liquid into both glasses. He handed one glass to Claire and picked up the other.

Claire took a sip and a burning sensation hit the back of her throat. It took her breath away. She took a second sip and what tasted at first like a sharp spirit seemed to have mellowed to warm caramel. Rich and smooth, it slipped down her throat. She emptied the glass, put it on the table and laid her head on the back of the settee. Humming along to another Billie Holiday song, Claire closed her eyes.

She had no idea how long she’d been sitting there, but when Billie Holiday stopped singing, she opened her eyes. She looked around. It took her a second to gather her wits. Then she saw Mitch sitting at the dining table with a stack of files in front of him. One file lay open and he was reading a large sheet of paper by the light of a standard lamp, the only light in the room.

‘Hi, China. Had a good sleep?’

‘I haven’t been asleep,’ Claire laughed. ‘I closed my eyes to enjoy the music. What’s the time?’

Mitch got up from the table and looked at his wristwatch. ‘Ten-fifteen,’ he said, dropping onto the settee next to her.

‘What? Oh my God, I have been asleep. How embarrassing,’ she said, burying her face in her hands.

‘I’ve made coffee. Do you want some?’

‘I ought to go and let you get on with…’

‘What?’

Claire looked over to the table. ‘Whatever it was you were reading.’

‘Oh that. It’s not important. It’s only the date for the drop in France, and a list of what we’re taking.’

Claire squealed. ‘Are you teasing me? If you are, I swear I shall never forgive you,’ she said, pretending to beat his chest.

Mitch took hold of her wrists and drew her to him until her lips were almost touching his. ‘They are our instructions, but it’s too late to go through them now. We’ll look at them tomorrow, together.’

‘Okay.’

‘Do you want me to take you home, China?’

‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I want to stay here with you tonight.’

Mitch picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. He laid her on the bed and looked into her eyes. ‘Are you sure, China? Sure you want this?’

Claire put her arms around his neck and, arching her back, lifted her face until her lips met his. ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ she said, and kissed him.

 Mitch took off her blouse and kissed her breasts. She tugged at his jumper. He pushed himself up until he was kneeling, pulled the jumper over his head, and threw it on the floor. He was soon kissing her again – on her lips, her ears, her neck. Claire became aroused and beneath his weight unbuttoned his shirt. Still kissing her, Mitch took off his trousers and pushed up her skirt. In a jumble of clothes and bed linen they found each other and made love.

Claire turned over and opened her eyes. Disappointed that Mitch wasn’t lying next to her, she wiggled out of bed and wrapped a sheet around her. She could smell coffee and hear jazz music coming from the sitting room. Mitch was sitting at the table in boxer shorts reading the documents he had abandoned the night before. ‘Good morning,’ she said, putting her arms around his